


Like a Bolt on High

by AwayLaughing



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Avvar, Fallow Mire, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: The Fallow Mire may not be Paida's favourite place in Thedas, but it certainly proves to be one of the more interesting.Or, Paida Lavellan goes to a swamp to save nine people and comes back with eleven. Two of whom are covered in body paint.





	Like a Bolt on High

“We’re being watched.”

 

Iron Bull’s declaration should not have been a surprise, but it was all the same. Not for the first time Paida had to remind herself he was a spy.

 

“I thought my shoulders were itchy,” Varric said. Solas said nothing and she wondered if he hadn’t noticed. Somehow she doubted that was the case. She thought he was far more likely to be a spy than anyone, though for whom she couldn’t guess. At any rate, neither the professed spy nor the spy-like were getting much key information at the moment. Unless 'Inquisitor willing to fight through swamp to rescue people' was vital news to someone. She couldn't see how. The Fallow Mire was certainly an annoyance - but not one worth leaving people to die over and the whole Hinterlands expedition clearly proved she was willing to risk life and limb for refugees and soldiers alike.

 

“I’ve been waiting to see what they want,” Paida said. Ahead a pillar shot into the air, and a cluster of rocks shielded part of what lay beyond it from view. If she guessed right their tracker’s trajectory would have them land about there.

 

“Should we say hello?” Solas asked and she shook her head.

 

“I’ll wait until we’re closer.”

 

“Mm,” he said, stepping delicately around a pile of unknown muck. “I do suppose shouting isn’t appealing.”

 

She was not entirely sure about if undead heard things, but it seemed safer all the same. Ahead a shadow flickered – a flash of white followed. She wasn’t entirely sure they were dealing with a human, given the similar flashes she’d seen.

 

“Avvar?” Iron Bull asked, startling her. “They wear white paint, right?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said honestly not having thought of it. They were even with the rocks now – so it seemed as good a time as any to speak up. “Hello – you’ve been following us.”

 

“You noticed!” Paida watched, impassive as they stepped out from the rocks. True enough, it was a woman in white and black paint. It covered her thick hide pants as well as her uncovered top and her face. The black paint covered her eyes and mouth, which was quirked into a smile. She leaned against a rough hewn stick, dark eyes glittering. “You are not so blind as I thought.” Dark eyes flashed across them, assessing. “And who says big means dumb?”

 

“People who are little and dumb,” Iron Bull said, voice a rumble.

 

“Just so,” the avvar woman said. “You are Andraste’s Herald, yes?”

 

“That is what they call me,” Paida said, leaving that alone for now. She could clarify that after knowing if the avvar was hostile, though she did not seem so. “You are?”

 

“Ette an Jannes,” she said. “I wish to join you.”

 

Behind her Varric laughed outright. Iron Bull audibly shifted – as if moving out of a prepared stance. Solas again said nothing, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him relax slightly. “I was under the impression the avvar here wanted me quite dead,” Paida said. “What changed?”

 

“Changed? Nothing. We saw your explosion,” the avvar said easily. “So I was watching your mountain. Then I heard another Hold had stolen your scouts, here in the Fallamyrr so I came to see what would happen. It is good you came,” she added. “It is a poor thane who abandons her people.”

 

Paida paused a moment to absorb that. “You were watching the conclave? Why?”

 

“Janus said it was important,” Ette said, which did not actually explain anything at all. “I came with him because he is old and useless in a fight. We stayed because he was very upset, and I wanted to see what you would do.”

 

“And who is Janus?” Solas asked, saving Paida from having to do it herself.

 

“A Brother,” Ette said. “From your Chantry.”

 

“Didn’t Harding just say the avvar like to pick fights with Andrastians?” Varric asked, voice a mutter.

 

“It’s not my Chantry,” Paida said, aware that wasn’t really important here but thinking it needed saying. Surely someone would eventually listen, no? “And it wasn’t really my explosion. I didn’t cause it.”

 

“But you are the only definite thing to come out of it alive, no? And it gave you that magic." She gestured to Paida's hand. She kept it wrapped, but green light leaked through the edges of the cloth all the same. "If it’s not your explosion, than whose?”

 

“That...is a fair assessment, actually," Paida said after a moment. “Alright. You were intrigued by my explosion and again by my stolen soldiers. Do you know who took them?”

 

“Idiots,” Ette said, tone very suddenly switching to annoyed. Even angry. It was a smooth transition, as if she made it often. “From Edvarr Hold. They live in the hills above the Fallamyrr – were the people not all dead they could tell you of them I’m sure.” Paida winced at the reminder, but didn’t interrupt the avvar. “I do not know Edvarr Hold well, but of Thane Movran songs are sung. His son leads these people, and as the songs do not sing of idiocy, I believe Movransson acts alone.”

 

Paida considered that for a long moment. Avvar politics were beyond the current scope of her reading – she made a mental note to herself to ask Josephine to source some information when she got back. “And will he have hurt my soldiers?”

 

“Not likely,” she said, “he will want them for thralls, once you are dead at his feet. His own men will fight to the death to prevent that for themselves.”

 

“They don't have to. I don’t really have any interest in thralls,” Paida said.

 

“Just so, we best be ready.”

 

“Is this how everyone else got hired?” Iron Bull asked.

 

“More or less,” Solas said, “though strictly speaking Master Tethras and I were involved in hiring her, rather than the other way around.”

 

“And yet she’s the boss,” Iron Bull said.

 

“She has the magic hand,” Ette said, gesturing for them to join her up by the pillar. Paida did, and the others dutifully followed up. “Can I light this?” she said pointing to the veil fire scone attached to one side. “I want to see what happens.”

 

“It’s veil fire,” Paida said, “are you a mage?”

 

“Just so,” Ette said. Beside her the veil fire sprang to life – and something in the distance screamed.

 

“Terror,” Iron Bull said, immediately going for his axe.

 

“Undead,” Solas said, staff already out. Paida dithered a moment and grabbed her bow. She could switch to her daggers once things got closer.

 

A barrier settled over them – and she was a little surprised to find it was Ette’s doing. She was grinning, teeth very white against her face makeup. “I love wet things,” she said. Paida raised an eyebrow – and then shivered at the feeling of _storm_. Lightening flashed from nowhere, striking one of the undead and immediately branching out to the others clustered around them. They fell, twitching.

 

“ _I_ love wet things,” Varric said. His feet were glowing.

 

“Move,” Paida said, stashing her bow away. “Solas, Ette get out of range.”

 

Time to kill some demons.

 

* * *

 

 

“What they say is true, you can heal the skies,” the large avvar said as the last demon fell. Paida had to look very far up to see his face – but it looked impressed, even under the war paint. “Is that why you follow?”

 

“The Lady bleeds demons,” Ette said, “it is wrong.”

 

“And you will see it righted?” he asked.

 

“She will,” Ette jerked her head towards Paida, “and so I will see her protected. Your Thane-son is a moron.”

 

“Oh yes,” the large avvar said. “What is your hold, girl?”

 

“I am Ette an Jannes o Farsjon,” she said. “You are?”

 

“You may call me Skywatcher,” he said. “You are far from home, little Seer; father’s daughter.”

 

Ette just shrugged. “My mother has many daughters,” she said, “my father has only me. If you do not intend to fight, stand aside.”

 

“I think she’s stealing your job,” Iron Bull said, clearly amused. Paida shrugged.

 

“I do not claim to know anything about avvar – she seems to be doing fine as our ambassador.” Indeed, Skywatcher did move out of the way - a symbolic gesture given there was actually room to just walk around him.

 

“I will teach you, after,” Ette said, turning. To Iron Bull she said, “sometimes it best to let knowledge speak.”

 

Iron Bull said nothing, and Paida ushered them back into formation. She gave Skywatcher another nod and without a word went back to trooping through the swamp.

 

* * *

 

 “You’ve got to be joking?” Varric said. They had slogged through countless undead, several terrors, no few wisps, several avvar - who as Ette had suggested were not interested in listening to Paida - and two bogfishers who couldn’t tell the difference between living humans walking by and undead aggressors.

 

“I am funnier than this,” Ette said, crouched and studying their current road block. She’d made a case for always having two mages on hand during their time together. She was, Paida thought, better at the freezing trick than Solas if not as good with the barriers and the lightning was like a gift from Elgar’nan himself. Undead archers in the water were far less threatening when she could wipe them all out with barely a pause.

 

“Me too,” Iron Bull said. “Make a break for it?”

 

“We’ll just lose time trying to kill them all,” Paida agreed. “They’re packed pretty tight though. Make room and keep going.”

 

“That means me first this time, boss,” Iron Bull said taking a single step and easily overtaking her. “Keep up!”

 

“You know how I’ve already told you I hate swamps and rain? I hate sprinting, too.”

 

“I could toss you,” Iron Bull offered. Varric snorted.

 

“No you couldn’t,” he said. Paida shook her head in fondness.

 

“I promise to let you stay in Haven next time,” she said. “Maybe I’ll bring Sera.”

 

“Oh please don’t do that without me,” Varric begged.

 

Paida just shook her head again and gestured for Iron Bull to start the charge. He took a breath, axe settling in his hands a little more firmly. She followed suit with her daggers – and she was surprised to see Ette had done the same. Ette must have seen the surprise because she said, “sometimes magic is not the best tool. Unless he is lightning proof.”

 

“He’s not,” Paida said, “nor are the rest of us.”

 

“I am,” Ette said cheerfully, “maybe I can teach you. Or him, at least,” she gestured to Solas. “You I will teach how to make paint. We can do green I think, for your Hold colour.”

 

There was no time to unpack that more – Iron Bull roared and was off like a shot. Paida sprinted after him. She only looked back only once, right on the edge of the hoard to make sure Varric wasn’t struggling too hard. Ette had fallen back and was with him, keeping pace despite certainly being able to run faster. Paida realized the avvar was covering him, just as Paida was covering Solas as the undead tried to slip back in. He wasn’t helpless – happily blasting them back whenever he could but the daggers were faster even if they had less range.

 

She was so focused on just getting through then she didn’t realize that of course there were avvar waiting on the other side until an arrow bounced off her shoulder. Solas beside her was tense and the hasty barrier he’d erected failed after the one shot. She didn’t wait, nodding her thanks and pointing him over to the side, so at least the undead weren’t clawing at his back. Iron Bull was happily pounding away at a melee fighter so she ran to the archers on the bridge. She was barely at the top steps when ozone filled her nose and she came to a stop, watching as Ette’s now familiar lightening came down hard on the nearest one.

 

It was enough to make the avvar drop her bow and Paida took the chance to lunge, burying one dagger into her exposed throat and pulling,turning her head to keep the hot spray of blood away from her mouth. The other avvar went down like a rock at nearly the same time, a crossbow having gone clean through her skull.

 

“Close the gates!” Varric called. The undead were scrambling to try and bust through the door. The only reason they weren’t overrun was because they were all trying to get over one another. That wouldn’t last, so Paida bolted across the bridge toward what she hoped were the gate controls. Skidding to a stop she started to turn – calling out below to make sure any undead were clear.

 

Her answer was another crack of lightning.

 

“Now!” Solas yelled up and she turned as fast as she could. She didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until she was letting go, the gate firmly in place. Gasping she stood there a moment, flexing her fingers. Then she shook it off.

 

The others met her at the stairs – Varric wincing as Ette poked at the back of his head.

 

“You will live,” she said. “Though maybe your skin falls off, I don’t know.”

 

“Thanks,” Varric said dryly.

 

“What this?” Paida asked.

 

“One of the undead scratched me,” he said.

 

“I applied heilldeig,” Ette said. “It will keep rot away. Save your potions for the Idiot ar Movran.”

 

“You think we’ll need them?” Iron Bull asked.

 

“Better to have and not need,” Paida said. “Come on – Varric you’re alright?”

 

“As alright as I can be,” he said. “Lead us to Idiot ar Movran.”

 

* * *

 

 

Idiot ar Underson was large, was the first thing Paida thought of him. Not as large as Skywatcher had been – but large. “The Herald of Andraste comes to face me at last,” he called as she stepped into the hall. Ette had moved back beside her – her back was a long unhappy line now, stiff but ready. Her rough staff was back in her hands, daggers sitting on her hip, waiting. “And you bring a traitor. You are not from my Hold – speak your name.”

 

“I am Ette an Jannes o Farsjold,” she said, voice ringing. It was a proper speaking voice – like the Keeper used at meetings. Interesting. “And if any traitor stands on these stones, it is you.”

 

“I am the Hand of Korth! You stand with a prophet of false gods, Seer,” he snapped, shifting.

 

“You would kill the only person who can heal the Lady,” Ette snapped right back. “For what? False glory, the untruest god of all. You are Empty-Handed, barely fit to feed worms..”

 

“I will not suffer a pretender,” he said. “Or are you scared to fight, Herald of a silent god?”

 

Paida suppressed a sigh, knowing he wasn’t worth the reaction. He was, as Harding surmised, a boastful little prick. “Are you?” she asked.

 

He roared in response.

 

“I will get the archers,” Ette said. “You poke him full of little holes.”

 

As far as battle plans went it wasn’t the most detailed, but this situation did not much lend itself to planning. She nodded, trusting the mages to keep her from getting pincushioned.

 

“Varric, get the melee fighter before he can join in,” she said. She didn’t wait for a response, breaking away to join Iron Bull, who had just met their enemy in a mighty clang.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, they only needed one little hole to take down their enemy. A gap in his armour at an opprotune time brought the whole fight to a very abrupt end. As she promised Ette had dealt with the archers – the smell of electrified flesh filled the small space. The melee fighter was down with three bolt in him. Solas had already broken off to check on their soldiers.

 

“Idiot,” Ette said, nudging the dead man at Paida’s feet. “You should take that,” she said to Iron Bull, pointing to his axe. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

 

“I’ll see,” Iron Bull said, putting away his current weapon so he could lift Eber’s. “This is nice work,” he said, sounding surprised.

 

“Hand of Korth is a mighty title,” Ette said. “Would that someone worthy had borne it. Are your men alright?”

 

“I believe so,” Paida said. She could hear people talking – relieved tones in their voices. “I should check on them – what should we do with these people?”

 

Ette scowled. “Leave them,” she said, “they who would leave the Lady wounded are not worthy of joining her. Let the rats have them.”

 

Paida just nodded, and left Ette and Varric to pick over the corpses. Looting the dead was not really her favourite way of acquiring additional funds – but figure heads of heretical Chantry operations could not be choosers, it seemed. Hopefully that money stream Josephine kept promising would materialize sooner than later. For now, it was selling prayer stones for coppers.

 

“I told you she’d come for us,” she heard just before she entered the door. The room went momentarily silent when she did – in that embarrassed way and so she smiled gently.

 

“I am sorry it took so long,” she said, “the roads were a little busy.”

 

Like a single stab had brought the erstwhile Hand of Korth down, that little jab eased the tension, letting it rush out the room.

 

“It’s like Denerim market on shipment day out there,” one scout said. A few nodded, a few didn’t seem to have a frame of reference for that. She knew the feeling.

 

“Is everyone alright?” she asked, looking around. She didn’t know enough faces to know when one was missing – indeed did not recognize anyone except one woman near the back. She had very bright blue eyes and if she was standing she would be barely up to Paida’s nose. Impressive, for a human woman.

 

“A few injured, none dead,” the man who’s spoken of the Denerim market said. “They were talking about battle thralls.”

 

“Yes, you would have been taken as prize. The strong would be absorbed into the Hold.” Several people jumped when Ette arrived, though Paida was getting used to her tendency to sneak. She knew she was no better, and even Iron Bull rarely gave himself away.

 

“She’s an ally,” Solas said before anyone could relax enough to grab a rock to throw, or something.

 

“Yes,” Ette said, “I have no interest in dooming the world to make my brothers jealous.”

 

“Do you have brothers?” Paida asked, “you mentioned sisters.”

 

“I have one brother, my mother-son,” she said easily. “Do you?”

 

“Both,” Paida said, since it seemed only polite. “Well if everyone can stand, we should get back to camp.”

 

“I’d prefer Haven, if you would lady Herald,” a female scout said. A few people laughed, but they all stood albeit some with aid. She passed potions to the three who looked the most unsteady – that left her with two. Hopefully the path they had cleared was still good.

 

Except the damn gates.

 

“We may have to work on that,” she said suddenly recalling the mass of undead between them and everyone else.

 

“I wouldn’t worry boss,” Iron Bull said, “we’ve got a visitor.”

 

This time Paida did sigh. How was it there was so many people in this empty swamp? “Friendly?”

 

“Skywatcher,” he said. “Says he cleared our way for us.”

 

“What, really?” She turned to Ette – who’s eyes were glittering again.

 

“It is an auspicious name,” she said, which didn’t really tell Paida anything. “I doubt he boasts.”

 

“Right,” Paida said. “Alright, let’s go talk to Skywatcher, Ette.”

 

“Am I to play ambassador again?” Ette asked, clearly delighted. Paida laughed softly.

 

“Well why not?”

 

She could not wait to tell Josephine she had company in that department.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand there's grown up Ette (pronounced ɛtt'ə - so like "ette" from Lisette, but the final e is like the e in tak"e"n or a little like the u in but). As you can see she does not think highly of her fellow in the Mire. She's quite the devout little avvar really, even if she pals around with an old Chantry Brother.
> 
> Also fun note: Fallow in english means a fertile land left unused. The Fallow Mire, then seems a little misnamed. However the actual Old Norse I use here fallamyrr - means roughly bog of the battle-slain. This would fit with the in-world history of this being a place ancient Avvar faced a serious defeat. Thus I can see in-universe the name 'Fallow Mire' being a phonetic transcription of the actual name (rather than translation). Falla - fallow, myrr - mire sort of deal. I can't back that up - but I thought it was nifty!


End file.
